


Naked

by wingstocarryon (wings_of_crows)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, D/s undertones, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Needles, Piercing, Post-Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, Sam Winchester-centric, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Undernegotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings_of_crows/pseuds/wingstocarryon
Summary: Angels don't knock.





	Naked

**Author's Note:**

> For laughablelement's salt_burn_porn prompt _But... why are you naked?_
> 
> You made me laugh for approximately three hours with that prompt. 
> 
> ETA: I made some edits to the final scene. That part was rough when I posted, and someone helpfully made me aware of a dropped plot point I hadn't included in it, too. 
> 
> Please go heap your praise on everyone who did salt_burn_porn. So many of them are freaking polished, not to mention hot, and written stunningly fast. Anyone who attempted it, my kudos!

“But… why are you naked?”

Cas was standing in the middle of the room, his coat and tie rumpled, his hair windswept, his expression… concerned. Dean was stark naked, holding a cushion shaped like a hedgehog over his crotch. His hair was sticking up like one, too.

“It, uh. It makes the spellwork stronger,” said Sam in a muffled voice.

Sam was flagrantly nude, except for a single sock (on one foot). He was crouched behind a chair that was much too small to hide any of him.

Castiel looked dubious. “I have never heard of magic that gets stronger with fewer items of clothing,” he said. “This room does smell like magic, however.”

He sniffed.

Dean went, if possible, even redder.

“Hmm,” said Cas. “What kind of spell were you working?”

A silence.

“Um, a protection... thing,” said Sam.

“It doesn’t seem to be working against angels,” said Castiel, advancing worryingly. Dean found himself retreating rapidly towards the bathroom. Sam, still crouched behind the chair, seemed to be attempting a sort of camouflage with the woodland-print wallpaper, as Castiel leaned over him with great interest. The deer on the paper behind him looked equally frozen in place.

Dean caught a glimpse of Sam’s betrayed expression as he dodged though the open bathroom door. Safe. Well, not safe. Cas could teleport. No one was safe. But still. He chucked it shut behind him and let out a breath.

There were no clothes in the bathroom. Dean was wearing a hedgehog pillow. He was still horny. And he hadn’t even gotten to come.

Angels were such douchebags.

*

Sam felt like a cornered animal. He could not seem to move, not even to cover his own genitals with a hand. Castiel was looking at him like he could see right into Sam’s soul. Castiel’s gaze seemed to pin him to the spot, like a butterfly being studied. Only Sam was one large, ungainly specimen. Dripping sweat and his dick slicked in lube and still somehow fucking hard.

Castiel cocked his head.

“I don’t think your spell is working, Sam,” he said. “Something is not right.”

Sam nodded dumbly. Something seemed off to him about this situation, too. But Cas wasn’t going away.

Cas prodded Sam’s side, leaning over him to look down his sweat-slicked back. Then he distinctly peered down at Sam’s crotch. Finally, he extended two fingers and touched Sam’s forehead.

Sam felt heat, pouring through him. His mind was being pinned as well as his soul - as well as his body, everything utterly laid bare. He felt something over his heart burning white hot - pain lanced through his mouth - and he flinched. Cas lifted his hand and the heat stopped.

“Ow,” he said, hand going to his mouth.

“Hmm,” said Castiel. “Something is very wrong.”

He frowned at Sam like Sam was a puzzle to solve, not a too-big, naked fuckup.

Dean was out of the room, at least. “Okay,” Sam said. “Okay, there was magic going on, but don’t tell Dean. Please.”

Castiel frowned further, and disappeared.

*

“I fucking - hate it - when he does that.” Dean was juggling getting dressed and pouring himself whisky. Sam was still sitting, stunned and stark naked, on the floor.

“Fucking angels,” Dean was muttering. “First just appears over my shoulder, then half up my ass in the fucking bathroom, now this —“

“I did suggest we ward the room,” said Sam.

“…sitting on the bed while I’m asleep —he was supposed to be in Morocco!”

There was a brief silence in which Dean drank heavily and Sam attempted to fix his sock, which had gotten twisted sole-up on his foot.

“Was he really up your ass in the bathroom?” said Sam.

“What? No, of course not. Jesus.” Dean took a swallow.

Sam took advantage of him pouring himself another to make a beeline for the bathroom himself.

*

He locked the door behind him, not that locked doors meant privacy these days, as Castiel had so ably demonstrated. Still. It helped his state of mind.

He sat down on the closed lid of the toilet.

Slowly, he raised a hand and brought it to his tongue. He removed the stud there. Then he reached to his chest, and carefully removed the piercing threaded through his flesh. He gritted his teeth as he drew it out. Only a drop of blood dripped down his stomach.

He was lucky Dean hadn’t noticed.  
  
Then he went for the final one.

Absently, he mopped up the tiny bit of blood with a bit of toilet paper. He wrapped the studs in more toilet paper, and hid them in the medicine cabinet.

He had to be careful, here.

How much had Castiel figured out? He didn’t know.

He was trying not to think about how he was still achingly hard. He was trying for some self-denial. He tried for a good thirty seconds. Fine, that wasn’t working. He’d just get this over with and then deal with himself after.

He had the guiltiest wank of his life, imagining Dean under him, and Castiel witnessing everything, Sam's dick pumping into Dean’s ass, his mouth pressed against his brother’s back. His fucked-up, obscene, dirty self, all visible —

He came, spilling over his own fist, with pleasure that was almost like pain.

He washed his hands in too-hot water, avoiding his eyes in the mirror. He was shaking with cold before he brought himself to venture out for clothes.

*

Sam didn’t masturbate for two weeks. He figured maybe self-denial would do the trick. Since apparently being witnessed acting on his incestuous desires for his own brother by a holy angel of the lord was his secret desire.

The thing was - the thing was. Him and Dean. Dean and him. They never really talked about this thing they did.

They fucked, yeah. In the dead of night, usually. In the dark. Sometimes in the car. Handjobs. That’s how it had started. Dean driving, Sam drunk off his ass, daring each other, wrestling for the wheel - stupid teenagers - it’s a miracle they hadn’t crashed and died. Huddling in the back seat, the heater blasting and not keeping up with the cold Wisconsin fall, on the way to meet their dad at some case. Sam, burrowing his head under Dean’s shirt, saying he just wanted warmth. Dean, catching him jerking off in the same bed — Dean’s mouth closing around him as he pinned Sam —

Anyway, it was just a thing they did sometimes. They didn’t talk about it.

It was wrong and fucked up, of course. Sam had always known that. Sam figured it came from being the only real person in each others lives, more or less. The only long-term person, anyway. God, that made it sound like a real thing. Sam wanted to punch himself.

Sam figured he was pretty much fucked in the head. Fucking his own brother, fucking an angel in his dreams now — more than one angel. Self-denial wasn’t working as well as it should, Sam didn’t understand how monks did it.

And apparently now heaven knew, too. Well, Sam knew he wasn’t meant for there anyway.

*

Then there was the spell, which Sam was hoping desperately Cas would not bring up.

It was three weeks later that Cas brought Sam a piece of fruit. “It’s from Morocco,” Cas said. “A piece of the apple.

“Wow,” said Sam, taking the pea-sized bit of shriveled brown stuff between thumb and finger reverently. “A piece of Eve’s apple? Holy shit.”

“For your spell,” said Cas.

Sam felt it hit him like a punch to the gut. By the time he’d started breathing again, the angel was gone. Castiel had given him a piece of original sin.

*

Dean could tell something was off.

Sammy kept rejecting him.

Ok, there had been times before when Sam hadn’t wanted to fuck. When he was shit-faced and couldn’t get it up, for instance (Dean had laughed at him until even Dean felt bad and had had to make it up to him with a special gift of old-man viagra the next day. It had been a wholehearted and kind attempt at an apology - he totally had not deserved Sam belting him one).

There had been the time Sam had had to watch him die a hundred times or something - Gabriel had done it, the fucker - and Sam had clung to him for like a month afterward. That had been weird. Then there was the time Dad died.

Yeah. Best not to think about that. See, the times when Sam had not wanted to fuck had mostly been like that.

Fucked-up times.

And this was a fucked-up time, sure. Angels were all over the place. Lucifer was apparently out there in the world somewhere. But God had saved them, for some unimaginable reason, and Sam was off the demon blood shit and Dean had gotten to see James Dean’s car. If that wasn’t time for a celebratory fuck, Dean didn’t know what was.

Maybe it was the thing with Cas. Cas had not mentioned it once, and Dean was thankful for that, but since Sam had taken the brunt of that inspection, Dean was inclined to look back on it as a hilarious memory he never wanted to think about again. Not as a roadblock to pour over and stop him from having a good time in the future. He’d already been cock-blocked by Cas once, he didn’t need to be forever cock-blocked by him in absentia. It was as if Sam was leaving room for the holy ghost, or some crap. Leaving room for the angel.

“Come on,” he was reduce to whining - and they normally maintained a good manly silence when they were stripping off, so this was decidedly weird - “Come on, man, what’s gotten into you?”

Dean was naked on his bed, and Sam was studiously looking at a book - Dean could tell he wasn’t reading it, he was too tense and he never turned the page - on his own bed. Like a bitch.

“He’s not here,” said Dean. “I cut my hand open for you and everything.” He indicated the angel warding sigil he’d smeared in his own blood on the back of the painting of squirrels above the bed. He’d figured this way he could hide it again once they were done. No need for Cas to know he’d even been locked out (unless he tried to get here in the hour or two Dean hoped to spend in glorious style. And Cas really was supposed to be in Israel this time). It was a foolproof plan.

But Sam was still staring at his book.

“What’s gotten into you, anyway?” said Dean.

Sam slammed the book shut.

“Nothing,” he said. Dean could see the sliver of his face visible and he was definitely red. Blushing. Not into it, my ass.

“C’mon, Sammy,” he said. “Ignore him, man. He’s just a douchebag angel. They’ve probably been watching us fuck for years.” He swallowed, wishing those words hadn’t just come out of his mouth. “Or, or maybe not,” he added, somewhat less confidently. “Maybe he's the only angel who, um. Knows now. But, anyway. Who cares?”

“Do you think they have?” Sam said lowly.

Dean flopped back on the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Maybe not,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Sam.

Dean was getting cold. He pulled the coverlet with the frollicking rabbits up over himself. He flopped over onto his stomach, leaving just his ass exposed. He flexed it invitingly.

Sam made a noise, and Dean grinned into the pillow. But Sam's footfalls didn't seem to be coming this way. Then the door shut. His grin faded.

*

Sam was taking the needles out at night, breathing deep, stabbing himself.

It wasn’t the whole blood thing.

Okay, it was that a little. That was what had gotten him into this kind of magic, this kind of pain. With Ruby. But he wasn't drinking blood, of course. But there wasn't much harm to liking the look of his own blood, just a little. To liking the pain.

Needles had been used in magic for centuries. Acupuncture was the most well-known example, but ritual scarification and piercings had been a part of magical traditions in many cultures.

Sam had gotten this specific one from a book Ruby had mentioned. It was supposed to protect your loved ones from you. The spell had been on his mind since he’d first seen Jessica who was not Jessica in his dreams, ever since he’d heard that confident “you will say yes to me."

He hadn’t told Dean. Not about the dreams, and not about the needles.

Apply pain to the parts that you use to love, the spell said. Sam figured he used his tongue - not for the dirty reason, though that was at the back of his mind too — but for, you know, communicating. His heart, obviously - hearts were so symbolic in magic, the place of love and all that — and though his, well. His junk. He’d bought the piercing kit while Dean was hitting up a waitress in Sioux Falls. It was his secret.

If you wore them while demonstrating your love, the spell would seal you off from ever hurting them again. The more pain, it said, the safer your loved one would be. You were supposed to melt the metal down afterwards into an amulet and um, burn yourself with it.

Ok, so it was a little dark. He just needed to figure out what he’d been doing wrong, so he could try again and get it to work.

After a while in the bathroom with the needles, his mind was a blank and pain was all he could feel. He must be getting closer. Getting safer. He didn't let himself touch, even though the pain sometimes felt good, sometimes made him hard.

*

It was a Wednesday afternoon. They were in Canton, Ohio, and they’d just finished hunting a Leshii. It had been a bit ridiculous. They were talking about what they could have done with “Paris Hilton,” or at least Dean was, Sam was too busy rolling his eyes. Dean was scraping the mud off his shoes when Sam unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Castiel was standing in the middle of the room. He was naked.

He looked calm and dignified, determined. He was wearing the usual black shoes that looked like they belonged to an accountant. And nothing else.

“Dean,” Sam hissed. Dean looked in over Sam’s shoulder and choked.  
  
“Get in here and shut the door!” said Sam.

“Cas, Buddy, Dude,” said Dean, staring around at the ceiling. “Why are you naked?”

“I have come to help you complete your spell,” said Castiel.

“OH-kay,” said Dean. He moved towards Cas, pulling a leopard-spotted coverlet off the bed, and preparing to throw it over Cas like a blanket over a budgie. “That was… a lie. There was no spell. We were, um.” Dean rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “We were fucking. Okay? You caught us.”

“That is incorrect,” said Cas politely. “You were attempting a spell. Or, Sam was.”

“No,” said Dean, now staring at the moose head on the wall. “Sam was actually, um, attempting to… fuck me.”

“He’s right,” said Sam quietly. “Cas is right. I was trying some magic.

“What?”

“It’s a protection spell,” Sam said rapidly “It’s to make you - us - you. Safer. It’s um. Sex. Magic.”

He was a little red.

“You kinky motherfucker,” said Dean. “You didn’t think to tell me?”

“Sorry,” said Sam. "I would have, before I went through with it." He wasn’t quite meeting Dean’s eyes. Something wasn’t quite right here, and Dean wanted to ask him more, but Sam was blushing and Castiel was standing in the nude, and this situation was giving Dean thoughts. About how good that looked.

“Sam was smart to attempt the spell,” said Cas. “I can help him finish it now.”

“Okay,” Sam breathed.

They both turned to look at Dean. In the light of the space heater under the fireplace, in the early evening twilight, they both glowed. Sam was breathing a little heavy, eyes burning. Cas was grave and somehow powerful. His body hardly seeming to contain him.

“Fuck it,” said Dean, and stripped off his clothes.

*

“Close your eyes,” said Castiel in Sam’s ear. Sam did.

“Kneel before me,” said Cas. Sam knelt, and took Cas’s cock into his mouth. “God, Sammy,” Dean whispered. Castiel’s eyes closed, his expression turning inward. The light, behind them, sparked and the lightbulb shattered. Cas made a noise, almost of fear, and Sam slipped off.  
  
"I have not done this," said Cas. 

Dean circled them both, settled in behind Cas, slid his arms around him from behind. He could feel Cas’s breath coming fast, his ribcage rising and falling. Dean slipped his fingers into Sam’s hair (he always loved doing this, even though he teased Sam for his long hair, it was worth it). He gripped hard, pulling Sam forward.

“Aright,” he muttered. “I gotcha both.”

Cas’s head dropped back on Dean’s shoulder. His chest rose and fell in great pants, as Dean pulled Sam forward. Sam took Cas’s cock into his mouth obediently. He worked his tongue over the head, and Dean caught a glimpse of silver, like he’d pierced - but no, Sammy didn’t have a tongue piercing. Did he?

“You kinky,” he muttered, and tugged Sam down harder until Sam made a noise, struggling. “Sorry, sorry,” Dean breathed. Sam’s eyes fluttered. Dean let him up, then pulled Sam deeper more slowly this time, let him open his throat, accept it. He was fucking Cas’s cock with Sam’s mouth. All his concentration on this. On Cas’s chest, rising and falling, Cas’s whole body shuddering with it, Cas’s breath heavy in his ear, his head tipped back. Sam’s eyes were watering, but he looked blissed out. Eyes fluttering shut, nostrils flaring. When Cas began to breathe harder, Dean pressed Sam forward, and Cas came hard in Sam’s mouth, Sam’s throat worked around him, his eyes glued shut with tears.

Sam slipped off Cas’s cock, panting.

“Y’all right?” said Dean.

Sam was breathing hard, looking up at them both like they were gods. He opened his mouth, to pant, blood and come dripping from his mouth.

“Jesus,” Dean breathed.

“Show Dean,” said Castiel.

Sam opened his mouth. There was red in his mouth. There was a stud, though his tongue. It looked newly pierced, it was bleeding. And Sam pointed to - there on Sam's chest, a curved piercing woven through the skin over his heart. Just under the protection sigil. The whole area was dark with bruising. And then. Dean saw the stud though his dick.

Right at the root, where it met his torso. There was a horizontal piece of silver, studs on both ends to keep it in place. A bead of blood glistened at one silver end. His dick was bruised around it, where he had clearly pierced again and again.

Sam’s face was alight.

He had fucking - he had fucking wounded himself for this.

“Jesus, Sammy” said Dean. "Why?"

Cas said, “He thinks he'll hurt you. He thinks this will help. He is...” he groped for words, "hurt," he said finally. 

“Of course he’ll hurt me,” said Dean furiously. “I’ll hurt him. You’ll hurt us. It’s how things go. It’s life. It’s, it’s, Sammy.” He grabbed Sammy’s shoulder. He crouched down. Cas watched them both, their bodies painted blood-gold from the light of the heater gleaming off them — two souls as one. He thanked, not heaven, but some nameless force that he was here. No, not a nameless force. Them.

“Sammy,” Dean was saying, “That’s just life. That’s what, that’s what happens. When you, you know. Care about someone. And then you say sorry. Or I do. Or whatever. And we go on. You can’t hurt yourself to protect me. What does this spell do, anyway?”

“It keeps me... in check,” said Sam. “It makes it so I can’t touch you. Dean. So I can’t hurt you. So I can’t —Cas, tell him.“

"He wants to be with you," said Castiel, "but he believes this instead."

"But," said Sam. "You wanted me to finish the spell, you knew I was dirty, wrong, you wanted to fix me too --"

"No" said Cas. "I knew you felt that way. I wanted Dean to know it too."  
  
"But the apple," said Sam desperately. "Original sin."  
  
Cas's eyes squeezed closed, as if in pain. "She gave it to her beloved," said Castiel. "That's why I gave it to you, Sam. I am sorry. Let me tell you the true story."

Sam was tearing up now. Dean was shaking his head, pushing him down onto the bed. Fingers gently poking at the studs. Hissing though his teeth, holding him down and pressing at them. Castiel was holding him up. The pain made Sam dizzy, and felt good, and they were soothing the holes in his flesh, and Dean was licking at the stud on his dick. Gentling it with his mouth. Licking it softly. Mouthing at the bruise.

Sam was leaning into Cas’s arms. He was liquid, and they were the world holding him up. Cas was gazing down at him as he strained to come, Cas was witnessing all of him. Cas was running two fingers though Sam’s hair, looking at him like he was somehow holy, somehow good, as Sam came between them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to The Amber Spyglass for this conception of genesis... This spn-world apparently includes a genesis, in which someone, definitely not the weird monster Eve so some other Eve, gave the apple to her loved one and they gained knowledge. The concept of sin was invented afterwards by humans trying to control each other. 
> 
> Since Castiel would have been around at that time, he remembers the true story. Since this is in line with spn's humanist interpretation of Castiel's own fall, I feel like it's apt :D


End file.
